The best part of grief is
It can't be spoken
In this cloying suffocating artificial world
It can only be kindled and kindled and woven into weapons
It can only be buried briefly under an avalanche spark of kisses
Grief can't be spoken
But it can be whisphered
It can be murmered
It can be chanted
As a lullaby deep at night
As a warsong on the invisible tide
And when she smiles and it's genuine your world lights up inside
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